


Lost on the Faerie Path

by Cieltee



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types
Genre: Amnesia, Brainwashing, Emotionally Constipated Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia, Eventual Happy Ending, Hurt Jaskier | Dandelion, M/M, Magic Plants, No beta read we die like witchers
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-07-11
Updated: 2020-08-19
Packaged: 2021-03-04 22:48:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,411
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25194199
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cieltee/pseuds/Cieltee
Summary: Geralt takes Jaskier to a city that likes the Witcher- except anyone in their right mind can see that maybe this city is actually really creepy. In an effort to find the reason behind the craziness that occurs in the strange city, Jaskier finds him in the dog house with Geralt's emotions as well as a lick of trouble."Where are you going?" demanded the Witcher."To hell, if that makes you happy."
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 6
Kudos: 39





	1. The Hidden City

**Author's Note:**

> This fic was inspired by a wacky dream I had the day that I remembered so well the next morning, I decided I just had to make a fic of it. A few things will be different from my personal summary I have written elsewhere, but I hope I can give you all a story you'll like!

The city was not much of a city at first glance. More like a strung-out line of ruins with no rhyme or reason to them. Jaskier found it hard to believe that anyone would live there, let alone a bunch of elves. What bothered him most was that Geralt had never mentioned it before, though Geralt has had a history of not telling Jaskier about places he had been. Still, the bard found it a bit inconceivable that the Witcher would come to this place unless it was to fight off a hoard of ghouls or possibly a dragon.

Okay, maybe not a dragon, since their friend Borch was a dragon. Unless it was a ghoul dragon!

Do ghoul dragons even exist? Jaskier made a mental note to ask Geralt or possibly Borch about that later. 

“Geralt, these ruins are exciting and all, um, from a historical standpoint, but why are we here again?” the bard asked the quiet Witcher.

“Empress Fantasia invited us here,” said Geralt quite bluntly. He almost said it like it was clearly obvious and that Jaskier should have known he was going to answer as such. It wasn’t very like Geralt, but Jaskier dismissed it. 

“Okay, so some empress invited you here…Why? Monster hunting again?”

“No, it’s for a- hmm.” Geralt paused- not only verbally, but also physically, which caused Jaskier to have to skip to the side to avoid bumping into him. “It’s for some party…I think.”

“You think?” the bard questioned, raising a brow at him.

“Hmm.” Geralt left it at that, continuing towards the ruins. Jaskier sighed and followed, giving the ruins a skeptical look. 

Something was strange, the bard couldn’t help but feel. The whole idea of Geralt being invited to such a place for a party seemed very unlikely, especially by an empress that Jaskier had never heard of. _Empress Fantasia...Doesn’t really sound like an elvish name, let alone a name an empress would have. I didn’t even know that elves had empresses._

“Geralt, are you sure-” Jaskier found himself asking, only to be cut off by a weird stomach-flip sensation that washed over him when they passed between two pillars along the road they were taking. His question was very dead on his lips as suddenly they were surrounded by hundreds of elves and festivities. Children raced in front of them, causing Geralt to pause again and Roach to knicker. Groups laughed at what looked like vending stalls; swarms of colorful streamers and flags connecting the stalls to the crumbling archways and walls of the ruins. Laughter and song filled the air, breathing life into what had just been an empty scene before them. Magic seeped into Jaskier’s skin, making him shiver as he looked around for the cause. But elves- and sylvans, he took quick notice as he spotted a few familiar horned individuals- had ways of being quite magical in their own ways. Looking at Geralt and how he had a rather amused look on his face brought Jaskier some ease, but not a lot.

“Welcome to Belvaedathen. It’s a reclaimed settlement, like the Edge of World was,” said Geralt, feeling Jaskier’s eyes on him. 

“Have… Have you been here before?” asked Jaskier, glancing at the surrounding… festival…in front of them.

“Hmm. Once, I think.” It was all Geralt said before the two of them were swept up by a crowd of elves. They had Geralt don a colorful necklace wreath of flowers, showered him and Jaskier in petals, all the while voicing excitement at the men.

“ _You’re here!_ ” shouted a woman next to Jaskier- he wondered where he had seen her face before, she looked familiar. 

“ _To see Her Majesty!_ ” shouted another elf a little further back.

The crowd erupted in chants of ‘Her Majesty’ and ‘You’re here’ as they swarmed around them. Geralt looked full of mirth and was even _shaking hands_ with them! Now, normally, this would be a very good thing seeing how very few, if any, places they go tolerate Geralt’s presence. However, considering how they were in a place that the bard has never heard of this place let alone its supposed empress, Jaskier couldn’t help but feel very uncomfortable and overwhelmed as he tried to gesture for a little breathing room. The crowd only persisted, and it felt like he was going to be trampled at any moment as he, Geralt, and Roach were all but herded through the city. 

“Geralt- Geralt! Where are they taking us?” shouted Jaskier over the crowd.

“To Empress Fantasia! Her palace is in the city’s center.”

“Why?!”

“Because we were invited!” shouted Geralt, following the proclamation with a burst of laughter that quickly rippled amidst the rest of the surrounding elves and sylvans. It only brought Jaskier panic. 

_This place is officially creepy as fuck!_

\---

The so-called empress was not very impressive if Jaskier were to sum up how he felt about her and her appearance…or lack there-of. 

He and Geralt had been escorted straight into her throne room, dear Roach having been left at the palace stables. The interior of the palace gave off very fey and elvish vibes, with flora and fauna all about and twinkling mage lights in sconces instead of torches. The lighting was dim in areas, almost giving the setting a whimsical, romantic vibe. Except it just gave Jaskier the creeps. The throne room wasn’t much different, save for the slight fungus vibe the throne itself gave. Geralt seemed pretty content with it all like it wasn’t his presumed second visit to the strange place.

A steward was waiting for them, decked out in royal regalia with floral motifs. His face was somewhat hidden by what looked to be a masquerade mask, making Jaskier eye him suspiciously. The steward didn’t seem to pay the bard any mind as he bowed before addressing him and Geralt.

“Travelers! Friends! Welcome, welcome. I humbly apologize on the behalf of Her Majesty, for her absence upon your arrival. With the festival going on, Her Majesty has many responsibilities to see before the night’s banquet. In her stead, I, Sir Chaverl, shall attend to you, your questions, and your needs.”

“Her Majesty is too kind, Sir Chaverl. My bard and I have no needs or questions of late; with all due respect, may we venture around the city until the banquet?” Geralt asked almost immediately. Jaskier was taken aback at how eloquent the Witcher sounded, his usual gruffness gone. 

“As you will, honored guests!” the steward boomed in reply, bowing once more. 

Geralt gave a small bow back and took up Jaskier’s hand, tucking it into the crook of his elbow before guiding him out of the throne room. The bard went along, but with much confusion and concern on his face. What was going on with Geralt? This was just so unlike him!

“You’ll love it here, Jaskier. The sylvans have a way to make things explode in the sky with many twinkles and lights. Oh, and the pastries in these parts are very sweet- I think you could write a ballad of the smell, let alone the taste,” Geralt said, smiling as they walked. He gave courteous waves to passerbyers and delighted chuckles when children would run past them. It was… It was too much.

Jaskier yanked his hand from Geralt’s hold, bringing it to his chest as if it burned. Geralt fixed him with a confused look of his own, his amber eyes clouded in concern.

“What’s wrong, Jaskier?”

“What’s wrong? What’s wrong is that you’re so happy- you’re never happy! Not like this!” Jaskier gestured at Geralt- just seeing him not looking so broody or willingly wearing a flower necklace was terrifying. “What is _wrong_ with _you_ , Geralt?”

Geralt finally frowned. It released a tension Jaskier couldn’t help but only now notice he had been feeling. Until Geralt crossed his arms and looked quite cross at the bard. “I thought you would be happy to see me like this, Jaskier. The cold, emotionless Witcher finally showing a fucking smile.”

“Geralt, I don’t mean it like that-” Jaskier tried to amend, but there was no stopping this storm he had let loose.

“Fuck off, Jaskier. These people appreciate me, treat me like I’m not some mutant monster. I fucking thought you’d be happy that I found a place where I was accepted, but no! No, you just fucking can’t because you’re not the damn catalyst with that stupid music of yours!” The rage coming off Geralt was so heavy and sincere, it caused passerbyers to stop and stare at the two of them. As the elves and sylvans’ stares turned into looks of sympathy towards the Witcher and scowl of disappointment at Jaskier, the bard couldn’t help but shrink a bit into himself.

Downtrodden, but also still convinced that something was wrong, Jaskier turned away from Geralt and began to walk away.

“Where are you going?” demanded the Witcher, his tone only losing a shred of anger.

“To hell, if that makes you happy. To the nearest watering hole, maybe? At least there I can play my _stupid_ music around someone who will like it- may be a toad or another fucking Witcher for all I care!” With that last bit barked out with a bit of venom, Jaskier took off in an upset run. He didn’t really care where he ended up- it became clearer to him that Geralt didn’t seem to care either when the Witcher didn’t call for him to come back or anything of the like. 

_Good. At least the bastard won’t have to see me cry!_


	2. Investigation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jaskier: Lemme check this city's vibe.  
> Geralt: *enjoying himself*  
> Jaskier: BAD VIBE.

The further Jaskier ran, the less people he saw. The more he ran, the more twisted and strange the city became. Vines like spider webs clung to the stones, sometimes so thickly that the structures looked to be made solely from the vegetation. Soon the vines began to carpet the very road Jaskier ran upon, to the point he could no longer run unless he wished to fall from being tripped. Of course, by that point, he was very out of breath to the extent that his lungs burned and his sides ached. Slowing down, he walked along aimlessly amidst the alleyway he found himself in, ducking maybe once or twice from the overgrowth of vines. 

_This place just gets weirder and weirder,_ he thought, looking around in mild wonder. He couldn’t imagine anyone wanting to live in such a densely overgrown place. Then again, he couldn’t imagine a city where Witchers weren’t hated. Small world, he supposed.

Upon closer examination, he came to realize that he had never seen vines quite like these. They were web-like where they were spread thinnest, almost like capillaries underneath a person’s skin. As they grew thicker, they were wrinkly and almost grotesque looking, like they were cords made from rotten leather. But when Jaskier reached out to touch them, they felt soft and velvety, like a babe’s skin.

In truth, it was the color that bothered him most when it came to these strange vines. They ranged in a multitude of colors, from peachy to a deep burgundy. All somewhat reminiscent of human flesh. The mere thought sent shivers and a cold sweat down Jaskier’s spine.

“Maybe it’s just...some weird color… that naturally, and perhaps only, grows in places where equally weird people live…” he mused aloud, giving the vines as much brevity as he could.

“Perhaps you’ve just never seen it before,” said a voice, its sudden appearance causing Jaskier to whirl about with a startled shout. Before him stood a young woman with a dark veil hiding her face, though he could still see hints of ginger from her hair poking out at the edges. She was also cloaked in a satin robe of murky green, similar to pine needles. 

“Melitele’s tits- where… Who are you?” gasped the bard, gesturing towards the woman.

“Presently, none of your concern,” she answered, her voice smoky and mysterious. Probably something Jaskier would have been charmed by in some other setting, but currently, it was just a bit creepy. She seemed to be regarding him, her head bowing a bit as she must have been giving him a look over whilst she slowly began to pace around him.

 _Definitely creepy,_ Jaskier thought, getting similar vibes to when Yenn was doing her weird ritual when the djinn attacked him. He still didn’t know what that madwoman was planning to achieve, but this equally strange woman would probably get along famously with the witch. He kept an eye on the veiled woman as she continued to pace around him, feeling very creeped out. “Is there something I can help you with, miss…?”

“Presently…” she mused, coming to stop in front of him, but blocking the path he had been going along, “I don’t believe so. Though I believe you should go back from whence you came, bard.”

“How- have we met?” 

“No,” she replied with just a hint of amusement. It was then that Jaskier noticed her eyes glinting through the thin veil: they were cat-like, with vertical pupils that would constrict and narrow into thin gashes before relaxing and becoming more almond-shaped. It was something he had scarcely seen on a human, let alone an elf. 

“Right…” Jaskier gave her a suspicious look before stepping back, “I guess...I’ll be going. This place was giving me the creeps anyway.”

The woman only watched him go with her predatory gaze as he retreated back down the path. He wasn’t sure if he should be thankful to get away from her or the vines- maybe both. Either way, this city just seemed to be getting creepier and creepier.

\---

The sun began to dip low in the sky by the time Jaskier stumbled upon the festivities of the city. Normally he would be roaring to go for a festival, but with how strange this city has been, it only made him feel chills and uneasy as he gazed upon the festive decorations and jovial crowds. Things only worsened as he noticed Geralt at the center of it all next to what appeared to be some pub oriented stall. _Ugh, Geralt and booze? Combined in this creepy place? Not good._

Keeping to the edges of the crowd to the best of his abilities, Jaskier kept an eye on the Witcher as he seemed to be telling some story that enraptured the crowd. At the rise and fall of his words and tone, the elves would ‘oooh’ and ‘ahhh,’ sometimes even giving startled or awestruck gasps. The closer Jaskier got, though, he began to realize that Geralt was speaking in Elvish, which he himself only understood very little. Still, it did make him wonder what the Witcher was going on about. Was it one of his retelling of one of his battles? Or perhaps of his Trials with the other Witchers from Kaer Morhen? The prospect of either happening made Jaskier’s heart sink just a bit, as these people would be easily receiving the nitty-gritty details that he himself had to practically beg for. It wasn’t fair.

Disheartened, Jaskier turned away from the crowd and Geralt to head off into the nearest alleyway-

“Jaskier!” 

Or perhaps not. Jaskier turned his head to look over his shoulder, seeing Geralt clambering down from his perch before the crowd to make his way towards him. The bard only knew that Geralt was coming for him as he kept shouting for him to ‘wait right there.’ Jaskier felt very tempted to immediately flee, to race away from his traveling companion. But his feet felt as if they were locked in place under the gaze of the crowd before him.

The elves made a path for Geralt to slip through as he approached Jaskier- the smell of wine and spice hung in the air around the Witcher, telling the bard that Geralt had been in a load of cups. Jaskier expected Geralt to slur or act like the drunks he was very familiar with, but he seemed more sound than he smelled, wrapping the bard in a welcoming hug.

Holding Jaskier out at arms length after a moment of hugging him, Geralt grinned on a degree that seemed rather stupid. “Jaskier, you’ve missed it, missed it all. I was just telling the people of my adventures- our adventures! Oh, you should stay, they’d love to hear about yours.”

 _Our adventures? Unlikely._ thought Jaskier with a small frown. “I don’t have very much to tell them, nor would I want to… Geralt, I think it would be best if we left-”

“Nonsense! They would love to hear what you say, and isn’t telling stories what you bards do?”

This just made Jaskier frown. He wasn’t _just_ some storyteller, let alone _just_ some bard. He couldn’t really put his finger on it, but everything Geralt said just rubbed him wrong- maybe it was the smell of wine on the Witcher’s breath. 

“Geralt, I’m not in the mood.”

“Not in the mood- Jaskier, one story isn’t going to kill you,” Geralt said with a slight frown.

“I said no, Geralt!” Jaskier shouted at him, shaking off the Witcher’s grip on his shoulders as he turned away and headed down the alley.

“Jaskier- Jas, will you please stop-” Jaskier heard Geralt stammering along with his familiar footfalls before the bard broke out in a run, fleeing from the area. He wasn’t in the mood for this, didn’t want any of this. It was just… Just too much!

His train of thought crashed to a halt when strong hands grabbed his arm, wrenching him to a stop before he was whipped around to face the panting face of his Witcher. His golden eyes were fierce, reminding Jaskier of how he looked before a battle. It made chills race down his back, a cold sweat popping up on his neck before Jaskier gained his bearings and tried to pull his arm free from Geralt’s grasp. It was like trying to move his arm from a vice!

“Ever since we showed up, you’ve been acting so hateful to these people. So upset that for once, you’re not the light of the party. I thought you would have cooled off by now, but this is ridiculous even for you, Jaskier!” growled Geralt, his face tightening in a scowl. No, a snarl.

“I don’t trust this place, Geralt! It’s good and well that they have festivals or whatever, but something about this city is giving me horrible vibes… We shouldn’t stay here, we should leave!” Jaskier argued, pointedly ignoring the small insult- he’s heard worse. Even from Geralt, he’s heard worse.

“We’re staying, Jaskier. They wanted us here. I’m not about to fuck things up with a city that welcomes my presence, thank you very much. There are far and few places that will let me set foot in them, let alone invite me to drink and be merry with them. I refuse to let that go, to let this place go.”

“Geralt… Geralt, have you ever been here before?”

“I…” Jaskier took great note of that searching look in Geralt’s gaze- not for that around him, but one that reflected his thoughts. It sent out red flags.

“Geralt, we should leave-”

“No,” barked Geralt, his gaze sharpening. “I refuse. And you will stay, Jaskier, or I will never speak to you again. You will not embarrass me in this city, damn it.”

The tension between them grew, just as much as Geralt’s grip on Jaskier’s arm tightened. The tiniest threads of aching snaked up the bard’s arm, but he held his ground, glaring at the Witcher. It felt like forever before they stepped away from each other, Geralt releasing Jaskier as they put space between each other. 

For one reason or another, Jaskier could only feel like he was being thoroughly scolded, making him drop his gaze to glare at the ground. “ _Fine._ ”

“Good. Come- we’re getting ready for the banquet. And you are going to it, and you will put on a fucking smile, Jaskier. I don’t care if you have to fake it,” Geralt growled, turning on his heel to lead the way back to the palace or wherever they were staying for the night. A side glare over his shoulder made Jaskier quietly follow the Witcher, even though he began to not meet his gaze.

There was no way things could get better after this blow-up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if Geralt ended up being, well, too grumpy for anyone's tastes. Likewise with Jaskier.  
> Sometimes you just need some grumpy boys.


End file.
